


he is straight up rock and roll

by sungyeowl



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, besties!thomally again bc one can never get enough of those two, continuation to Heavy metal broke my heart (can be read separately tho), idk enjoy????, it's kinda fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3634251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungyeowl/pseuds/sungyeowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>“I think that’s enough,” Thomas says eventually, wiping the tears away from his ears and extending his hand towards Minho. “Get up, buddy.”<br/>“I just have no idea how he does it,” Minho grumbles but takes the offered hand and lets Thomas launch him to his feet. “That’s not possible.”<br/>“That’s magic,” Newt counters, a smirk playing on his lips as he lets go of the machine and cracks his knuckles. “Or I’m just bloody good.”<br/>“I hate you both,” Minho says simply, frowning at them.<br/>“Nah, darling, you loves us.”<br/>“That I do, yeah.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	he is straight up rock and roll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1300](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1300/gifts).



> this fic is a continuation to [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3567926), but i'm pretty sure it makes sense without the first part, too ^^
> 
> so, yeah, this is for the lovely [Sule ♡]() because she's lovely and nice and precious and i just???? i really hope you like it, and i'm sorry it took so long but it's finished finally, yay ;A;? 
> 
> i don't know what more to say, i just hope you'll enjoy ♡
> 
> (also, the title is a slightly modified verse from Lawson's Juliet!)

“What are you doing here?” Gally’s voice is hoarse and thick with sleep when he enters the living room. “ _Again_?”

The man then stops and stares, eyes unfocused and fist tightening on the hem of his rumpled t-shirt.

Thomas doesn’t know where to start.

“Alby let me in.” he says eventually, as he lifts his hand and waves at Gally, beckoning him to come and join him on the couch. “He had to go out.”

Gally hesitates. Thomas is not surprised – he would be confused too if he found Gally, in turn, in his own apartment at eight in the morning, clogging the couch.

“What happened this time?” sitting down, Gally sighs with what sounds awfully like resignation. If it weren’t for the need to speak to someone – anyone – Thomas would probably leave hearing Gally’s tone, not wanting to bother him anymore with his personal bullshit, but –

-  but they’re best friends. And Thomas needs Gally’s opinion. And he knows that underneath those scary eyebrows Gally will be glad that Thomas has told him what he is about to tell tight now.

“They know.”

It takes quite a while for Gally to actually understand what Thomas has said, during which while Thomas has an unusual chance to see a blank look take over his friend’s expressive face. Gally – minus Alby and Thomas’ mom – is probably the most intelligent person Thomas has had a chance to meet, so soon enough he’s staring at him, eyes wide in realisation.

“Minho and Newt?” Gally makes sure either way, to which Thomas only nods. “About your crush on them?”

“Yes.”

“Man,” Gally whistles, the awed expression not leaving his face as he appears no longer sleepy. “Didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to confess.”

“I didn’t,” Thomas mumbles, letting his back dip further into the backrest of the couch ad Gally watches him attentively. “They – well. Minho did. Kind of.”

Gally doesn’t ask but it still takes only a split second for Thomas to start speaking and telling him everything.

By the time he’s finished, Thomas is blushing, with his eyes closed firmly as he refuses to look at the other man.

“So what you’re saying is,” Gally voices out when it’s clear that Thomas doesn’t intend to say anything more. “ _They_ confessed to _you_ last night.”

“They did.”

“And you’re together now – the three of you.”

“We are.”

“And it’s official because you talked about it before you fell asleep.”

“We did.”

“And it’s eight am right now.”

“Yes, it is…?”

“So what the hell are you doing _here_ at eight o’clock, Thomas, clogging my couch when you can fucking finally call both of your hot crushes your hot boyfriends?” Gally asks on one exhale, prodding Thomas in the arm stubbornly until he opens up his eyes.

“Mino had to go because he had a lab class, and Newt had a lecture,” Thomas explains in an embarrassingly weak voice, sort of crowding under Gally’s hard gaze. His mind races for a while to the moment he woke up – huddled on the couch, pressed between Minho and Newt (he might have drooled on Minho’s t-shirt, too, but he pretended he didn’t notice; Minho seemed not to care either way). Minho was already awake, his hand raking through Thomas’ hair gently; he smiled at him – and Thomas smiled back, well-rested and so, so incredibly happy, relishing into the sensation of his hair being stroked. They shook Newt awake and took turns showering; Thomas got a goodbye kiss to his right cheek from Newt, and another one to the forehead from Minho – along with the promise that they would pick him up at five.

And that was what had disarmed him emotionally, and had him rushing to Alby’s and Gally’s before he could think better of it.

Thomas had imagined being with Newt and Minho so many times – countless times – that it happening in reality never occurred to him. He has never gone past imagining, he has never planned or thought how he would act or what he would do on an actual date.

And now that a date is going to happen in reality, not in his pathetic fantasies, Thomas feels giddy and quite fucking scared.

“And?” but Gally cannot get into his head, so of course there’s no way he would know exactly how Thomas feels now.

“And we’re supposed meet at five today.”

“Like, a date, you mean.”

“Yeah. Gally,” Thomas whines, misery sipping from his voice as he turns his head to stare at the bigger man more pointedly, silently demanding an advice. “What do I do now?”

“Go on that freaking date, Thomas,” Gally leers at him, his eyebrows going up expectantly. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

It _is_ what he wanted, and what he wanted the most in the world for the past few months at that, but it’s different now. Now, Thomas has a real chance to fuck up.

“I know,” he sighs, dropping his head. “I just don’t know what to expect, okay.”

“Thomas,” Gally’s a little quieter now, his voice softer but stern, because that’s what works on Thomas the most. “Nothing’s gonna change. For worse, at least. They’ll behave the same way they did.  You’ll just get more kisses. And hugs. And sex, probably.”

“You think?” Thomas doesn’t lift his head up.

“Yeah. But don’t make me say it again. It’s embarrassing.”

“Thanks, Galls,” Thomas smiles lightly as he finally looks up, only to see Gally frowning at him. “You’re fed up with me, aren’t you.”

“With your love life, yeah,” Gally nods, then his lips form a small smirk. Thomas smiles even wider, calmed down. “With you – not so much. Just calm down, take another shower, and go meet your _boyfriends_.”

“You’re the best. I’ll do just that,” Thomas says, punches Gally in the shoulder for no apparent reason, then pats it lightly, letting his hand linger for a moment as a means of unspoken thank you. “But-“

“Hm?”

“What should I wear? I don’t know where we’re goi-“

“OHMYGOD. Get out.”

*

Thomas learns the hard way that texting Minho asking where they will be going is no use – the other man replies with _be patients_ and _you’ll sees_ , as if he were planning something spectacular (which, to be honest, Thomas hopes he doesn’t) and when he texts Newt, in turn, the older boy replies he has no bloody idea and that he’ll be meeting Minho on campus before they pick Thomas up from their apartment and probably learn only then.

Choosing proper clothes  in that case is challenging. Thomas has never spent so much time standing like a dumbass in front of his wardrobe, only to pick an all-black outfit that consists of jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan. So he doesn’t look to dressed-up if it’s not necessary and elegant enough if – god forbid – it is.

Waiting isn’t easy when Thomas has no classes to attend, so he cooks himself some light dinner and then does some obligatory reading, because when he tries to just sit and laze around on the internet he’s been getting too restless (legs bouncing and palms sweating – and god knows he doesn’t need that).

There’s only so much time one can spend reading The Biological Replication of Macromolecules without falling asleep and even a nervous and giddy Thomas is no exception to this. And so he dozes off, book falling onto his face limply.

 

And it’s a good thing, too, because the man has no more time to go insane while waiting for his – for _his boyfriends,_ okay, and before he knows it there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake, and another one taking the book off of his face.

“Hey,” Newt, who squats down next to the couch, says as Thomas blinks his eyes open. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty.”

“Hi,” Thomas murmurs, sitting up slowly and biting down a smile that threatens to blossom on his face at the warmth he thinks he sees in Newt’s eyes. “Where’s Minho?” he asks right after he’s taken a look around the room.

“Downstairs, callin’ a cab,” Newt replies and stands up, then extends his hand to help Thomas up. “Come on up, mate. We’ve got things to do.”

Newt’s hand is warm when he pulls Thomas to his feet. He doesn’t let go of it and follows Thomas to their bedroom so Thomas can take his wallet. And it feels actually amazingly pleasant, Thomas notices and this time doesn’t hold back the smile, when they walk down the stairs and Newt’s fingers are still interlaced with his.

It feels amazing and why was he even nervous?

Thomas’s not sure anymore when they reach Minho, who grins at them brightly, his eyes squinting and cheeks puffing up.

“Get on, get on,” Minho urges, gesturing to the car parked on the curb.

Newt sits next to the taxi driver and Minho’s hand fits into Thomas’ own amazingly well in the backseat, too.

*

Thomas can’t decipher where they are going, exactly, because Newt doesn’t stop talking, his body curved so he can see them on the backseat while Minho talks back. Thomas keeps quiet for the most part, too distracted by Newt’s constant smile and the way Minho’s thumb strokes the back of his hand where they’re joined between their thighs on the car seat.

If he weren’t doomed enough before, he definitely is now, Thomas thinks as they reach whatever-that-is and get out of the car, Newt holding the door open for them and Minho pulling Thomas behind himself.

“Oh,” Thomas says after Minho and Newt have led him through the gates of the park of the other side of the city. It’s pretty – it definitely is, one of the nicest places here, with little alleys and lots of green; the air is warm but the leaves are moving slightly thanks to a mild breeze coming from the lake on the other side of the park, and the trees are casting shivering shadows on the ground. Thomas can see people jogging or walking their dogs, parents looking after their playing children; It’s nice, it really is – he just doesn’t know what they’re doing here, because surely they wouldn’t pack him into a cab just to take a walk? “What are we doing?”

“Well,” Minho starts, letting go of Thomas’ hand but instead throwing both of his arms over his and Newt’s shoulders. “’m gonna kick your sorry asses, that’s what we’re doin’.”

Newt laughs only and shakes his head at him when Thomas frowns and opens his mouth to ask a question; so he shuts up and lets Minho steer them farther inside the park.

*

Thomas feels dumb for not realizing earlier – there’s _a lake_. A lake that has a big-ass wooden pier – more like a platform, really – with benches and lampposts and all that. There’s even a small restaurant (or a café – Thomas’s not sure).

But they’re not going for the café – definitely not, and Thomas should have known, because there’s a freaking _arcade_. Rows and rows of coin-ops, with games from Acrobat Mission to Air Duel – you name it – it’s probably there. And Thomas hasn’t played those for ages.

“How’s that, hm?” Newt asks with a smile as they enter the little building. He looks over at Thomas, and so does Minho – they’re both smiling, but they’re also obviously waiting for an answer (a little bit nervously, too), which Thomas stammers to give, the excitement, and something akin to gratitude, already bubbling up in him.

“I. Just. This is sick,” Thomas says eventually, his eyes darting from Newt to Minho and back; he could kiss them right now, even if they haven’t started playing – having fun – yet. He could totally, totally do it. And he would, if it weren’t for the fact that they’ve been official for less than twenty-four hours and he doesn’t know if he can (he can, of course he does; he’s just too shy). And if he weren’t such a sissy, the thought invades Thomas’ mind, but he tries to ignore it and focus on the two boys before him – which isn’t easy, because there’s lot of colorful lights and metallic, 8-bit sounds around them. “Really.”

“Let’s not waste more time then, yeah?” Minho suggests, grinning like a madman, then ushers them to the closest unoccupied machines.

*

“Oh my god, not AGAIN,” Minho shrieks and actually drops down to the floor, onto his knees, and in a very theatrical manner at that. Thomas bursts out laughing and Newt soon follows, both gripping the coin-op so they don’t join the other man on the ground. “How is that even possible?”

This is probably the best fun Thomas has had in years. _Years_. They’ve been at the arcade for close to three hours now, and they had such a blast that Minho had to make two runs to exchange money for more coins.

Needles to say, Minho didn’t take the fact that Newt won every game, every round they’d played – be it together or taking turns – too well. He wouldn’t shut up the whole time, either, cursing and yelling and trying to beat both Thomas and Newt – and not succeeding once. Thomas is sure he was close to seriously collapsing from excessive laughter at some point.

He loves it – he loved every second of it, every profanity Minho spat at them (without any heat or meaning whatsoever), he loved every time Newt started laughing and glanced at Thomas knowingly, he loved every time Minho slapped him on the back and shouted encouragements (“You gotta beat him, Thomas! At least you!”). He does, and he has no idea where the previous nervousness came from, because it’s perfect.

“I think that’s enough,” Thomas says eventually, wiping the tears away from his ears and extending his hand towards Minho. “Get up, buddy.”

“I just have no idea how he does it,” Minho grumbles but takes the offered help and lets Thomas launch him to his feet. “That’s not possible.”

“That’s magic,” Newt counters, a smirk playing on his lips as he lets go of the machine and cracks his knuckles. “Or I’m just bloody good.”

“I hate you both,” Minho says simply, frowning at them.

“Nah, darling, you loves us,” Newt leers off-handedly and nods his head, indicating they should already leave. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“That I do, yeah,” Minho mumbles and follows Newt, then turns around to look at Thomas; who hesitates for a brief moment, red-faced and startled but, so, so happy. “You comin’?”

“Yeah,” Thomas murmurs and follows the two hastily, trying not to look or behave too affected.

Newt is still up ahead when he catches up to them, but Minho’s walking at Thomas’ side. Thomas’ hand itches.

 He dares a quick look at Minho’s face, then at the man’s hand, pushed into the pocket of his jeans.

His courage wavers, but Thomas bites onto his lower lip as he makes up his mind, then reaches out. He tugs at Minho’s wrist, pulling his hand out of the pocket, then intertwines their fingers.

 A few seconds pass but they seem to drag so much that Thomas starts panicking and regretting his decision (because it’s probably too early because it’s too fast because it’s too daring because why would he want me to hold his hand _ohmygod_ ). He’s ready to pull back, his eyes fixed firmly to the ground underneath, but then Minho hums and squeezes his hand lightly, not giving him a chance to let go.

Before he can react, Thomas is yanked closer, so his arm is pressed to Minho’s.

“Hi there,” Minho smirks and fucking _winks_ when Thomas looks at him, startled. Oh.

“Um,” he voices out sheepishly, but – after a moment of consideration (not really) – doesn’t let go of Minho’s hand. Because it feels nice. Holding his hand and walking along the shore of the lake (and it would be even nicer if Newt slowed down so Thomas could hold his hand, too, the idea crosses his mind). “I. Um.”

Minho’s smirk grows wider and more amused when Thomas struggles with his words, but thankfully Newt turns around and says, “Hey loverboys. Stop flirtin’, will ya? We’ve got a punishment to think of.”

“A punishment?” Thomas raises his eyebrows in question, a bit lost, and looks over at Minho, who appears to be equally weirded-out by Newt’s statement.

“A punishment? Pretty sure we didn’t establish anything like that, Newt?” Miho frowns, jutting his lip our as e sends Newt a challenging glare. Thomas gapes.

“Yeah,” Newt nods and finally slows down a bit, matching their pace. “Minho lost every game, didn’t he? He’s gotta be punished.”

“On the other hand… I’m all in if it’s about me tied up to a bed by the two of you,” after a moment of which appears to be intensive thinking, Minho shrugs with a smile and winks at Thomas, _yet again_. Thomas flushes red but laughs along with Newt for a moment, before the blonde orders him to back away. Which Thomas does, still laughing, not really understanding what’s going on – but Newt’s grinning mischievously which Minho doesn’t seem to have noticed, and Thomas’s not stupid enough to take the risk.

And good thing he is not, because a split second later Newt hauls himself at Minho and – and actually pushes him into the lake. And Minho stumbles, all of his athletic abilities forgotten, because he was not prepared; arms thrown comically before him, he rackets face-first into the water, and Thomas is laughing so madly there are tears again tears streaming down his face.

It takes some time for Minho to stand up, drenched and spitting water, with his face red with an embarrassed blush. “You jerk.”

“Stop fussing,” Newt chuckles in reply, then kisses him quickly after Minho makes his way over on the dry ground, shaking his head and wringing his t-shirt.  “’S not so bad.”

“It’s not,” Thomas agrees, trying to stifle more of his laughter at the sight of the wet boy. Minho stands before them with a frown, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You should be glad it wasn’t something worse, yeah?”

“Well,” Minho says in what sounds like mock-wonder, crossing his arms over his chest. “I look  kinda sexy like that, don’t I? Ya’re gonna have to deal with my glory, now.”

“I think we’ll manage,” Thomas says, this time trying and succeeding not to falter at Minho’s daring comment, though his eyes flick for a moment to Minho’s chest, where the wet fabric clings to his body indeed in a quite flattering manner. (Okay, so maybe he won’t deal that well.)

“I wanted to take you guys for dinner but now…” Minho gestures at himself; Thomas observes as Newt’s eyes follow his movement approvingly and he thinks he might not be the only one in trouble. “Since ya want me out of my clothes so badly I guess we could go to my place?”

“Sounds alright,” Newt says with a smile and that’s all that takes them to rush out of the park.

(It’s a precious experience to see the looks Minho and his wet attire get from the passersby.)

*

Thomas has never been to Minho’s apartment, so the first thing he does when they enter the flat is taking a look around. It’s small, a bedroom and a kitchen with a small living space more than a living room with a kitchenette, but there’s a balcony and the bathroom is fairly big – it’s really nice overall, Thomas muses, especially when he notices a framed photo of the three of them Minho forced them to take some time on the nightstand next to Minho’s bed. It’s a few months old and obviously before they went official, but they’re smiling, sitting on the couch in Newt’s and Thomas’ apartment, arms thrown around each other. Thomas cannot stop himself from smiling back at the stupid thing, so he’s thankful that the other two are in the kitchen and can’t mock him for being sappy.

“Do you need help?” Thomas snaps back to reality and asks out loud, exiting the bedroom to see that Minho, in fresh and dry clothes, is already standing by the stove, preparing food.

“He’ll be okay,” says a voice from behind him and Thomas feels strong arms snaking around his waist suddenly. Newt drags him backwards, towards the small sofa in the little living room-like corner of the room and Thomas yelps as they fall down onto it.

“You sure?” his voice is strained when the question leaves Thomas’ throat, because Newt is hugging him, close, and he’s actually pressing his face into the crook of Thomas’ neck. It feels weird but in a very good way. “I mean, we- you pushed Minho in the water-“

“He’ll be fine,” Newt repeats insistently, and this time those definitely are his lips grazing over the skin of Thomas’ neck; _nuzzling_ , really, and Thomas is so distracted by the close proximity and the sensation that he barely hears Minho, who assures (quite amused at that): “I’ll be fine!”

His breath hitches a little but Thomas settles down more comfortably, fitting under Newt’s arms and allowing the boy to cuddle up to him all he wants. Which is amazing in itself, because Thomas was sure he would never experience that in real life. Not like that, at least, where it was perfectly okay to do so.

“So did you like it?” Newt moves after some time, pulling away so he can look at Thomas when he speaks; but his hand moves up from its place on Thomas’ waist and rests on his neck and Thomas gives in to the caress perhaps a bit too willingly. He doesn’t really care, too.

“Like what?” his eyes slip closed because of the gentle touch and because of the delicious smell and Minho’s quiet humming coming from the kitchen. Thomas can’t think straight because he feels blissful and very, very comfortable, and he’s pretty much screwed if it continues like that.

“Today,” comes the answer with a chaste press of Newt’s lips to Thomas’ cheek. “The date.”

“It was amazing,” Thomas says and opens his eyes to look at Newt again, hoping the man will see that he means it. A lot. Truly. “Honestly. I am- really glad.”

“You should be,” Minho butts in cheekily, definitely ruining the moment, but Thomas forgives him as soon as the man places plates of his usual steaming-hot curry on the small table in front of them. “Where else would ya find such brilliant boyfriends? Who also feed you?” Minho squeezes in on the other side of Thomas and passes over the cutlery, with a tiny vicious smirk gracing his lips. “That comes to you too, Newt.”

Newt barks a laugh and orders him to shut up, but it’s Thomas who keeps silent instead, looking between the two for a moment. He feels content and pretty damn happy, so he doesn’t find a reason not to murmur, “Yeah. I guess I’m lucky.”

“I guess we all are,” Minho says in return, his smile softening and his eyes getting warmer. And this time Thomas finds strength to lean in and kiss him briefly. Because he feels like it and because he finally, _definitely_ knows he has every right to. “Now eat up before it gets cold.”

The food’s delicious and filling so Thomas finds it excellent that they stay on the little sofa afterwards, albeit it’s too small for the three of them; there’s a lot of shifting but they find the perfect position, just like they have the day before, even if not too comfortable. Minho’s humming quietly again next to his ear, while Thomas’ sure Newt has actually dozed off a bit, leisurely half-sprawled over his chest. The atmosphere is lazy and Thomas considers giving in to the warmth and the peaceful sleepiness, until something catches his eye.

“Minho,” he says, perking up a bit, which results in an indignant whine from Newt. “You’ve got a tv.”

“One of the pros that comes with ‘im, I should think,” Newt chuckles and stretches a little, looking over at the man. “C’mon. Indulge us, you know we don’t have one in our flat.”

“I could do that. Possibly,” Minho drawls as he sits upright, too, before he gives both Newt and Thomas a long, heavy look. If Thomas thought he has already gotten used to the new dynamics of a relationship he’s in - he’s mistaken. His face heats up and the rhythm of his heart speeds up, the tiniest bit; and the grip of Newt’s hand that appears on his forearm doesn’t really help him stay unaffected by the sudden, thrilling shift in the mood. “But I’ve also got a bed that I’m pretty sure could fit three people.”

*

(When they wake up the next morning, tangled in the most perfect way, Thomas knows for a fact that Minho’s bed _can_ fit three people.)


End file.
